iONKU 
iO 


borty  M?Cabe 

at  the  Wheel 


By  SEWELL  FORD 


LIBRARY  ft 

UNIVERSITY  OF  U 
•     CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO  J 


/ 


I 


; 


BT  SEWELL   FORD 
CHERUB   DEVINE 
SHORTY   McCABE 
SIDE-STEPPING   WITH   SHORTY 
HORSES   NINE 
TRUEGATE   OF   MOGADOR 


I  HONK,  HONK!! 

SHORTY    McCABE 
AT  THE  WHEEL 

by  Sewell  Ford 

Illustrations  by  F.  Vaux  Wilson 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
MCMIX 


1  « 

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ra  miim  wx  IA»  miiTtf  mum  irw  kni  in*  in*  mi  w  w  mi  w  ff 


Copyright  IQOQ  by 
Mitchell  Kennerley 


Press  ofj.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Co. 

East  Twenty-fourth  Street 

New  York 


To 
T.  S.  F. 

who  broke  into  the  Honk  Class 

along  with  me  and 

knows  how  it 

really  was. 


HONK,   HONK! 


,  I've  got  it,  all  right.  No,  not  the 
made-in-Germany  measles,  or  the  pip, 
but  something  'most  as  common.  More'n 
that,  I'm  glad  of  it.  All  that  bothers  me 
now  is,  just  when  it  was  I  swallowed  the 
bug. 

The  best  I  can  do  is  to  trace  it  all  back  to 
that  combination  of  Zenas  and  Mr.  Tidwell. 
The  only  line  you  need  on  Zenas  is  that  he 
was  a  bacon-tinted  gent  from  the  West  In 
dies  that  Sadie  hired  by  the  month  to  run 
her  car. 

Excuse  me  if  I  don't  dwell  on  Zenas. 
[9] 


HONK,    HONK! 

Sadie's  managed  to  pick  some  mighty  punk 
specimens  of  the  shuff er  tribe  first  and  last, 
and  we've  had  our  troubles  with  'em;  but 
this  St.  Thomas  Island  party  with  the  break 
fast-meat  complexion  had  more  curly  black 
hair  on  his  head,  and  less  gray  matter  under 
neath  the  skull,  than  any  two-legged  article 
of  his  size  I  ever  saw  outside  of  a  cage. 
Add  to  that  a  lazy  streak  that  was  bone 
deep,  and  a  chronic  case  of  sulks,  and  maybe 
you  won't  wonder  why  Zenas  didn't  hold 
his  job  longer. 

What  got  me  so  grouchy  on  him,  though, 
was  because  we  didn't  even  have  the  satis 
faction  of  firm'  him.  About  once  a  week 
reg'lar  we  threatened  to  tie  the  can  to  Zenas, 
and  it  was  a  pleasure  I  was  kind  of  savin' 
up  and  lookin'  forward  to. 
[10] 


HONK,    HONK! 

And  then  one  day,  just  as  Sadie  was 
ready  to  make  a  train  for  town,  havin'  noti 
fied  Mr.  Zenas  an  hour  before,  up  comes 
word  that  he's  quit.  Mother  Whaley 
brings  in  the  bulletin. 

"What's  that?"  says  Sadie.  "Why 
didn't  he  say  so  when  I  paid  him  this  morn 
ing?  Why,  the— the " 

"  Never  mind  thinkin'  up  any  fancy  pet 
names,  Sadie,"  says  I.  '  You  couldn't  do 
the  subject  justice.  Just  wait  until  I  go 
out  there  and  unlimber  a  few  of  the  bottled- 
up  remarks  I've  been  keepin'  in  so  long." 

But  Zenas  has  counted  on  that,  and  all 
there  is  left  to  remind  us  of  him  is  an  old 
cap  and  some  empty  cigarette  boxes.  And 
there's  the  big  limousine,  standin'  there  just 
waitin'  for  some  one  that  knew  how  to 
[11] 


HONK,    HONK! 

touch  her  off;  also  the  train  was  due  in  six 
minutes.  Sadie's  followed  me  out  to  re 
mind  me  of  that. 

E<  It's  a  pity  you  can't  run  a  car,  Shorty," 
says  she. 

*  Yes,  or  play  the  zither,  or  walk  a  slack 
wire,"  says  I.  "  And  think  how  handy  I'd 
be  around  the  house  if  I'd  added  practical 
plumbing  and  shoe  cobblin'  to  my  other 
accomplishments." 


Oh,  I  passed  it  off  light  and  easy  enough, 
and  we  'phones  for  a  depot  hack  to  take  her 
to  the  next  train;  but  somehow  the  remark 
sort  of  lingered.  It  didn't  worry  me  so 
much  at  the  time;  but  every  now  and  then 
it  would  bob  up  and  I'd  think  it  over. 
[12] 


II 


fTlHEN  a  few  mornin's  later,  as  I  was 
**•  pikin'  down  to  the  station,  I  hears  this 
small-sized  riot  going  on  in  the  front  yard 
of  Mr.  Tidwell,  a  neighbor  that  has  the 
cute  little  stucco  cottage  four  houses  down 
the  road  from  us. 

Course,  I  hangs  up  along  the  hedge  and 
gawps  over  to  see  what's  goin'  on.  And 
there's  Tidwell,  planted  behind  the  steer 
ing  wheel  of  a  brand  new,  shiny  tourin' 
car,  just  out  of  the  shop.  First  off  I 
thought  he  was  tryin'  to  yank  the  steerin' 
post  out  by  the  roots;  but  then  I  see  he's 
tryin'  to  turn  the  thing  around  in  the  drive- 
CIS] 


HONK,    HONK! 

way  without  climbin'  the  shade  trees  or 
damagin'  the  shrubbery. 

He  seems  to  have  plenty  of  help,  for 
Mrs.  Tidwell  and  two  maids  and  the  Ital 
ian  who  cuts  his  grass  was  all  strung  out 
around  the  lawn  shoutin'  at  him,  each  one 
offerin'  a  different  piece  of  advice  as  to 
what  he  ought  to  do  next. 

"Back  up  some  more,  Lovey!"  sings 
out  Mrs.  Tidwell,  wavin'  her  arms. 

"  Plenty  of  room  ahead  to  the  right, 
sir ! "  hollers  one  of  the  maids. 

Well,  I  had  to  grin.  You  would  too,  if 
you'd  seen  the  desp'rate  look  on  Tidwell's 
face  as  he  grips  that  wheel  and  stares  from 
one  to  the  other.  He's  one  of  these  thin, 
washed-out,  soft-spoken,  spectacled  gents, 
Tidwell  is — he's  the  lace  expert  for  some 
[14] 


HONK,    HONK! 

big  department  store,  so  Sadie  says — and 
he  looks  about  as  well  qualified  for  the  job 
he's  tackled  as  a  speckled  hen  tryin'  to 
hatch  out  a  setting  of  kitchen  alarm  clocks. 
First  he  fumbles  with  one  of  the  side 
levers,  and  gets  the  engine  to  going  like  a 
steam  rock  drill.  Then  he  tries  another, 
and  the  machine  gives  a  lunge  forward 
that  almost  butts  one  of  the  maids  into  a 
geranium  bed.  I  watches  the  circus  until 
I  hears  the  eight-seventeen  express  whistle, 
before  breakin'  into  a  trot  for  the  station, 
and  the  last  glimpse  I  had  of  Tidwell  he 
was  mixed  up  with  a  lawn  swing  and  a 
lilac  bush,  and  the  Italian  was  tryin'  to 
climb  a  tree. 

'  I  hear  Tidwell  has  a  car,"  says  one  of 
our  commuters  as  I  drops  into  the  smoker. 
[15] 


HONK,    HONK! 

"  He  had,  up  to  three  minutes  ago,"  says 
I ;  "  but  the  prospects  are  that  he'll  finish 
the  week  with  some  scrap  iron  and  a  few 
splinters.  Say,  I'm  coming  home  early  to 
watch  him  perform." 

Honest,  the  thoughts  of  him  kept  me 
chucklin'  most  of  the  day,  and  that  after 
noon  on  the  back  trip  I  speculated  all  the 
way  out  on  what  his  place  must  be  lookin' 
like  by  then.  I  walks  up  the  Post  Road 
with  my  grin  all  set  to  spring,  when  all  of 
a  sudden  I  hears  a  horn  honk  behind  me, 
and  the  next  thing  I  know  along  sails  Tid- 
well  in  his  new  car,  bent  a  little  forward 
with  a  strangle  hold  on  the  wheel  and  his 
eyes  bugged  out  like  a  couple  of  peeled 
onions,  but  drivin'  along  at  a  20-mile  clip 
[16] 


HONK,    HONK! 

and   keepin'   in   the   middle   of   the   road. 
He's  all  alone,  too. 

"Well,  I'll  be  dipped  in  glue!"  says  I, 
or  words  to  that  effect.  '  Think  of  it ! 
Tidwell!" 

You  know  how  you're  apt  to  size  up  a 
man  for  a  weak  sister,  and  suspect  him  of 
bein'  one  of  the  kind  that  lets  his  wife  buy 
his  neckties?  Why,  I  hadn't  credited  Tid 
well  with  havin'  any  more  spine  than  a 
piece  of  pickled  tripe,  and  as  for  his  havin' 
nerve  enough  to  run  an  automobile  all  by 
himself — well,  it  was  one  on  the  plexus 
for  me. 

Course,  you  see  all  sorts  of  people 
handlin'  steerin'  wheels,  from  ten-year-old 
kids  up;  but  somehow  I've  always  looked 
[17] 


HONK,    HONK! 

on  it  as  kind  of  a  freak  trick,  like  bein'  able 
to  walk  on  your  hands,  or  wigglin'  your 
ears.  But  Tidwell!  And  the  funny  anec 
dote  about  him  I'd  framed  up  to  hand  to 
Sadie  was  put  on  the  ice.  I  didn't  even 
mention  Tidwell. 


[18] 


Ill 

,  was  it  Fate,  or  just  my  feet, 
that  took  me  for  a  stroll  up  around 
Columbus  Circle  the  next  afternoon? 
Anyway,  I  forgot  how  I  happened  to 
stray  so  far  uptown.  All  I  know  is  that  I 
was  walkin'  around  towards  Broadway, 
when  I  hears  some  one  sing  out: 

"Hey,  Shorty,  old  sport!" 

And,  as  I  whirls  around,  up  to  the  curb 
glides  a  slick  little  red  roadster,  and  I  dis 
covers  Mr.  Cecil  Slattery  shovin'  out  the 
glad  hand. 

"  How're  they  coming? "  says  he. 

"  In  bunches,  Slat,"  says  I.  "  I  expect 
[19] 


HONK,    HONK! 

you're  gettin'  'em  in  carload  lots,  as 
usual?" 

'  Yes,  yes,  brother,"  says  he.  "  I'm  one 
of  the  busy  little  honey  gatherers,  you 
know,  and  the  world  is  my  clover  top." 

'  Yes,  I  know,"  says  I,  "  and  the  parties 
you  light  on  gen'rally  gets  stung." 

"Haw,  haw!"  says  Cecil,  lettin'  it  out 
free  and  joyful. 

That's  him  all  the  time,  one  of  the 
smoothest,  cherkiest,  nerviest  young  gents 
that  you  can  find  along  Gasolene  Row, 
which  is  sayin'  a  good  deal. 

Five  or  six  years  ago,  Slat  was  assistant 
wiper  in  one  of  these  second-hand  auto 
mobile  garages,  with  grease  on  him  from 
his  red  hair  down  to  his  run-over  heels,  and 
he  knew  just  enough  about  machinery  to 
[20] 


HONK,    HONK! 

chew  the  head  off  a  nut  with  a  Stillson 
wrench  and  wear  a  pair  of  overalls  that 
would  stand  alone. 

He  was  cussed  and  kicked  around  by 
everyone  in  the  place;  but  he  kept  on  comin' 
back  with  that  impudent  grin  of  his,  and 
monkeyin'  with  broken  down  old  oil  eaters, 
until  he  got  so  he  knew  the  insides  of  diff  '- 
rent  makes  like  a  Tammany  leader  knows 
his  wards. 

It  wa'n't  until  he  was  promoted  to  sales 
man,  though,  that  Slat's  talents  got  full 
swing.  Why,  he's  admitted  to  me  himself 
that  he's  booked  more  orders  than  any 
other  three  men  on  the  Row.  And  to  see 
him  now,  in  his  college-cut  clothes,  and  his 
natty  straw  hat,  and  his  lemon-colored  silk 
shirt  with  the  turned-back  cuffs,  you'd 
[21] 


HONK,    HONK! 

never  suspicion  he  used  to  wear  my  old 
sweaters. 

'  What  brand  of  speed  destroyer  is  that 
you've  got  there? "  I  says.  '  Is  it  another 
triumph-of-the-century,  top-noteher,  ne- 
plus-ulster,  eh? " 

'  We-e-ell,"  says  Slat,  kind  of  hesitatin', 
"  it's  a  fine  little  car  for  the  money ;  but  I 
wouldn't  want  to  say  it  was  the  best  ever. 
I'd  call  it  a  good  second,  though." 

'What!"  says  I,  gaspin'.  'You  in  a 
machine  that  don't  lay  over  anything  that 
ever  run  on  rubber?  Are  you  joshin',  or 
have  you  got  paralysis  of  the  tongue? 
Maybe,  though,  it  belongs  to  somebody 
else." 

No,  it  was  his  machine,  one  he'd  been 
usin'  for  a  demonstrator  all  the  spring,  a 
[22] 


HONK,    HONK! 

present  from  the  president  of  the  company 
after  he'd  turned  in  his  one  hundred  and 
first  order.  But,  the  fact  of  the  matter 
was,  he  was  changin'  firms.  It  seems  he'd 
just  signed  a  contract  with  another  con 
cern,  that  put  out  a  really  high  grade, 
classy  line,  and  although  he  wouldn't  take 
on  the  new  job  until  he  came  back  from  his 
little  trip  abroad,  he'd  already  begun  to 
hedge  on  his  patter. 

"  Of  course,"  says  Slat,  "  for  a  medium- 
priced  machine,  this  leads  the  list,  and — 
But  right  there  he  stops,  and  I  notices  his 
eyes    narrow    down    thoughtful.       "  Say, 
Shorty,"  he  goes  on,  smooth  as  butter,  "  do 
you  want  to  pick  up  this  little  beauty  off 
the  bargain  counter? " 
[23] 


HONK,    HONK! 

"Ah,  throw  in  your  reverse!"  says  I. 
"  I'm  no  clover  blossom,  Slat.  Besides, 
what  would  I  do  with  it;  put  it  in  the  par 
lor?" 

'  Why  not  use  it  to  burn  gasolene  with?  " 
says  he. 

"  Out  of  my  line,"  says  I.  "  I  couldn't 
any  more  run  the  thing  than  a  frog  can 

%•" 

'  You've  got  hands  and  feet,  haven't 
you? "  says  he. 

'  Yes,  but  they  ain't  trained  to  do  monkey 
stunts,"  says  I. 

"  Give  'em  a  course,  then,"  says  he. 

"  No  use,  Slat,"  says  I.  *  The  machinery 
and  jugglin'  talents  don't  run  in  our  fam 
ily,  and  I  take  it  you've  got  to  have  a  little 
of  both  to  manipulate  one  of  them  hustle 
[24] 


HONK,    HONK! 

wagons.  I  couldn't  learn  in  a  month  of 
washdays." 

"So-o-o?"  says  he.  "Well,  you  just 
jump  in  here  with  me." 

"  Said  the  spider  to  the  fat  blue-bottle, 
eh? "  I  breaks  in.  "  Gwan,  you  red-headed 
he-siren,  you!  Think  you  can  yogi  me  into 
buyin'  something  I  ain't  got  no  more  use 
for  than  a  parrot  has  for  tooth  powder? " 

"  Now  that's  all  right,  Shorty,"  says  he, 
puttin'  on  an  injured  air.  '  You've  got  a 
right  to  your  suspicions,  and  they  do  me 
credit.  But  this  is  once  when  you're  run 
ning  down  your  signals." 

"  Huh!  "  says  I.    "  And  then?  " 

"Do  you  suppose  for  a  moment,"  he 
goes  on,  "  that  I  would  try  to  unload  any 
thing  on  you  that  you  didn't  want?  Why, 
[25] 


HONK,    HONK! 

you  and  I  have  known  each  other  for— 

"There,  there,  Slat!"  says  I.  "Don't 
overwork  the  tear  ducts.  What  might  be 
this  sudden  spasm  you're  strugglin'  with?" 

'  Why,"  says  he,  lookin'  sort  of  sad  and 
crushed,  "  I  simply  want  to  show  you  where 
you're  mistaken  about  having  a  subnormal 
intelligence.  You  say  you  can't  learn  to 
run  a  car.  I'd  like  to  prove  to  you  that 
you  can,  that's  all." 

Well,  I  ain't  one  to  blight  the  happiness 
and  peace  of  mind  of  a  fellow  being  so 
careless  and  casual  as  all  that. 

"  Slat,"  says  I,  "  cheer  up.  I'm  going  to 
give  you  a  chance  to  do  your  worst." 

So  with  that   I   climbs  into  the  empty 
bucket  seat  beside  him,  and  off  we  goes  up 
towards  Riverside  Drive. 
[26] 


IV 


A  S  we  hums  along,  swingin'  in  and 
-*-^-  out  of  the  trolley  tracks,  grazin'  a 
truck  here  and  a  street  car  there,  Slat 
gives  me  a  rapid-fire  lecture  on  how  it's 
done. 

Got  me  kind  of  int'rested  too,  and  be 
fore  we  strikes  the  Manhattan  Viaduct  I 
had  the  whole  program  by  heart.  You 
know  that  new  piece  they've  added  to  the 
drive  up  beyond  157th  Street?  We'd  just 
got  straightened  out  on  that,  when  he  jams 
on  his  brake,  fetches  up  with  the  engine 
still  throbbin',  and  slides  out  from  behind 
the  wheel. 

[27] 


HONK,    HONK! 

"  Here,  now,"  says  he,  "  you  do  it." 
"Eh?  "says  I.    "Me?" 
'  You  got  a  fifty- foot  roadway  all  to 
yourself,"  says  he.     '  Why  not  try?  " 

Honest,  I  was  ashamed  to  let  on  how 
chilly  my  feet  had  gone  all  of  a  sudden; 
so  I  slips  into  his  place  and  he  takes 
mine. 

"  Now  let's  see,"  says  I,  runnin'  over  the 
directions  out  loud.  *  You  push  forward 
on  this  side  thingumbob,  put  your  foot  on 
that  left  pedal,  and  bring  this  handle  back 
a  few  notches." 

As  I  said  over  the  lesson  I  went  through 

the  motions,  and  before  I  knew  what  was 

happenin'  the  machine  begins  movin'  right 

under  me.    I  chokes  down  a  gasp,  bugs  my 

[28] 


HONK,    HONK! 

eyes  out,  and  takes  a  death  grip  on  that 
steerin'  wheel.  First  we  does  a  dive  to  the 
right,  then  a  swoop  to  the  left,  like  a  pink 
seagull  with  a  jag  on. 

"  Easy,  easy,"  says  Slat,  kind  of  soothin'. 

'  This  is  no  serpentine  course.     Whirl  it 

gently.    And  don't  hold  it  so  hard ;  it  won't 

get  away  from  you.     Little  more  gas  now. 

That's  it!    You're  doing  fine." 

Maybe  I  was;  but  every  nerve  and  mus 
cle  in  me  was  strung  as  tight  as  a  piano 
wire.  I'd  always  thought  the  Drive  had  a 
good  deal  of  width  to  it;  but  just  then  it 
looks  as  narrow  as  a  footpath. 

"  Say,  ain't  there  some  hundred-acre  pa 
rade  ground  handy  where  I  can  finish  this 
lesson?  "  says  I.    "  I — I  don't  want  to  mar 
the  scenery  any  along  here." 
[29] 


HONK,    HONK! 

"Oh,  you're  all  right,"  says  Slat. 
'  Throttle  low  for  this  down  grade." 

Instead  of  throttlin'  down,  though,  I 
must  have  throttled  up;  for  we  begins  to 
shoot  down  that  little  hill  as  if  we  was  on  a 
roller  coaster.  But  Slat  reaches  over  and 
slows  her  up  just  in  time  to  let  me  round 
a  curve  on  two  wheels. 

"  Now  let's  see  you  stop  just  beyond  that 
tree,"  says  he. 

"Wha-a-t?"saysl. 

"  Stop  her !  "  says  he.  '  You're  going  to 
run  over  a  man,  or  into  a  wagon!  Now 
stop!" 

Say,  we  stopped  all  right.     I  grabbed 
all  the  levers  I  could  at  once  and  jammed 
down  on  all  the  foot  pedals  I  could  find. 
[30] 


HONK,    HONK! 

Oh,  yes,  we  stopped!  I  come  near  keepin' 
right  on  over  the  dash ;  but  the  wheel  caught 
me  in  the  bread  basket  and  set  me  back 
solid  with  my  wind  gone.  Slat  must  have 
been  lookin'  for  some  such  act;  for  he  had 
his  feet  braced. 

"  Fine!  "  says  he,  real  sarcastic.  "  Espe 
cially  for  the  tires.  You've  killed  your  en 
gine,  too." 

"  The  blamed  thing  got  what  it  deserved, 
then,"  says  I. 

"  Crank  up  and  try  that  again,"  says 
Slat,  "  only  do  it  this  time  the  way  I  told 
you." 

So  I  gets  out  and  begins  turnin'  the  front 

handle.    Say,  ever  notice  how  easy  most  of 

them  shuffers  can  whirl  that  thing?    Well, 

I've  got  some  little  right  arm  ginger  my- 

[31] 


HONK,    HONK! 

self;  but  I  sure  was  red  in  the  face  by  the 
time  I'd  given  the  crank  three  or  four  turns, 
and  all  that  comes  from  the  machine  is  a 
kind  of  low,  hollow  cough,  like  it  was  in 
the  last  stages. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  have  better  luck  if  you 
turned  on  your  spark  first,"  says  Slat, 
springin'  his  grin  on  me. 

"  Ah,  say!  "  says  I.  '  What  a  humorous 
kid  you  are !  " 

But  I  pushes  over  the  button,  and  with 
another  turn  I  had  her  hummin'.  Next 
time  he  told  me  to  make  the  stop  I  did  it 
more  careful;  but  at  that  I  must  have 
missed  something,  for  just  as  we  fetches 
up  more  or  less  gentle,  the  engine  goes  out 
of  business  again. 

"  What's  your  right  foot  doing  on  that 
[32] 


HONK,    HONK! 

pedal? "  says  Slat.  "  I  thought  I  told  you 
three  times  how  to " 

"  I  know,"  says  I.  "  I've  got  a  brain 
like  a  cup  custard." 

Ever  have  to  put  your  tail  down  like  that 
and  own  up  what  a  thick  thatch  you've  got? 
Honest,  if  I'd  been  a  school  kid  bein'  jacked 
up  for  f orgettin'  his  lesson,  I  couldn't  have 
felt  any  cheaper.  And  nobody'll  ever  guess 
how  much  I  wanted  to  quit  the  game.  But 
I  couldn't. 

"  If  you  know  what  to  do,"  Slat  goes  on, 
"  why  in  thunder  don't  you " 

"  It's  this  way,  Slat,"  says  I.  "  My  head 
knows  it;  but  my  feet  don't.  Not  yet. 
I've  got  to  educate  'em  a  little  more.  If 
you're  willin'  to  take  the  chances,  though, 
I'm  goin'  to  learn  to  run  this  blasted  ma- 
[83] 


HONK,    HONK! 

chine  right  here!    If  I  don't,  I'll  buy  it  of 
you  and  burn  it  on  the  dump." 

"That's   the  way   to   talk!"   says    Slat. 
"  Get  your  mad  up,  and  then  you'll  do  it." 


[»*] 


T  71  TELL,  sir,  that's  the  right  dope.  I 
*  don't  know  how  it  come  to  me,  or 
when  I  passed  the  butter-fingered  stage; 
but  I  sets  my  teeth  hard,  puts  my  mighty 
intellect  on  the  job,  and  inside  of  an  hour 
I  was  doing  the  trick — runnin'  her  along 
as  straight  as  if  she'd  been  on  rails,  slowin' 
up,  stoppin',  backin',  and  even  turnin' 
around. 

All  the  way  on  the  return  trip  down  the 
Drive  it  was  me  that  held  the  wheel,  and  be 
fore  we  struck  Broadway  again  I  was  lean- 
in'  back  against  the  cushions  in  the  cockiest 
style  you  could  imagine. 

Now,  I  try  to  cut  out  the  chesty  business, 
[35] 


HONK,    HONK! 

as  a  rule;  but  here  I  was  at  it,  good  and 
hard.  Just  the  feel  of  that  steerin'  wheel 
under  my  hands,  and  seein'  how  tame  I'd 
got  all  that  machinery,  set  me  up  so  that 
I  could  almost  feel  my  shirt  gettin'  tight 
across  the  front.  It  was  great!  I  ain't 
had  any  such  sensations  since  I  was  a 
youngster. 

'  Well,"  says  Slat,  as  we  gets  back  to 
Gasolene  Row,  "  it's  too  bad  you're  not  in 
the  market  for  a  machine;  for  this  one 
would  fit  you  down  to  the  ground." 

I  don't  say  anything  to  that;  but  I  hops 
out  and  walks  around  her,  rubbin'  my  hands 
over  the  polished  gas  lamps,  and  pokin'  at 
the  tires,  and  lookin'  mighty  wise.  And 
the  more  I  sized  her  up,  the  better  she 
looked  to  me. 

[36] 


HONK,    HONK! 

"  Think  I'm  expert  enough  to  run  her 
out  home  this  afternoon?"  says  I. 

"Why,  you  could  take  her  as  far  as 
Boston,  if  you  wanted  to, ' '  says  he.  * '  All 
you  need  now  is  practice.  Of  course, 
if  you  don't  care  to  buy,  I  suppose  I 
can ' ' 

"  As  a  friend,  Slat,"  says  I,  "  about  how 
much  more  would  you  stand  me  up  for 
than  if  I  was  a  stranger?  " 

I  knew  I  was  a  goner;  so  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  show  my  hand.  Maybe  he 
stuck  me,  and  maybe  he  didn't.  Anyway, 
I  writes  my  check  right  there  on  the  wheel, 
and  after  I'd  had  some  oil  and  gasolene 
put  in  her,  and  bought  my  license  numbers, 
I  starts  for  Rockhurst-on-the- Sound. 

[37] 


HONK,    HONK! 

No  use  goin'  into  details  about  that  trip. 
I  knew  the  road  fairly  well,  havin'  gone  over 
it  in  other  bubbles;  so  I  didn't  get  off  the 
track.  I  had  a  few  close  shaves ;  but  gettin' 
through  'em  all  right  only  made  me  chest- 
ier'n  ever.  And  all  I  could  think  of  in 
the  back  of  my  nut  was  what  a  surprise 
party  I  was  going  to  spring  on  Sadie 
when  she  sees  me  roll  in  all  alone  and  han- 
dlin'  the  wheel  myself. 

Say,  I  had  that  tableau  mapped  out 
seven  different  ways  across  the  board. 
First  it  was  with  Sadie  discovered  at  an 
upper  window,  expectin'  to  see  me  come 
hoofin'  it  up  the  walk,  and  wavin'  joy 
signals  to  me  with  both  arms.  Then  I  had 
her  on  the  veranda  and  almost  fallin'  back 
wards  in  her  rocker  at  the  sight.  Maybe 
[38] 


HONK,    HONK! 

some  of  the  neighbors  would  be  there  to 
help  her  throw  a  fit. 

The  only  times  I  had  a  chilly  feelin' 
along  my  spine  was  when  the  horrible 
thought  struck  me,  what  if  she  shouldn't 
be  on  hand  at  all,  and  miss  my  grand  en 
trance  ? 


[39] 


VI 

was  there,  though.  As  I  turned 
in  through  our  front  gates  I  see  her 
out  on  the  lawn,  with  little  Sully  in  his 
perambulator. 

"  Honk,  honk!  "  says  I,  gettin'  busy  with 
the  horn  and  speedin'  up  a  little  extra. 

"  Why — why,  Shorty!  "  she  squeals,  after 
one  look. 

I  just  grins  and  locates  the  spot  where  I 
meant  to  make  my  grandstand  finish  and 
step  out  to  receive  the  plaudits  of  the 
fam'ly.  There's  a  little  lattice-work  sum 
mer  house  just  to  the  left  of  the  drive,  and 
I'd  framed  it  up  that  to  stop  just  in  front 
of  that  would  make  a  good  picture. 
[40] 


HONK,    HONK! 

All  I  did,  too,  was  give  one  twist  of  my 
head  and  wave  a  hand  at  Sadie. 

But  that  was  one  frill  too  many! 

Next  thing  I  knew  I'd  made  a  swing  to 
the  left,  I  hears  a  great  crackin'  and  splin- 
terin'  of  wood,  and  hanged  if  I  don't  find 
that  I've  got  that  dinky  summer  house  af 
fair  up  on  the  radiator  hood,  with  the  ma 
chine  makin'  full  tilt  at  a  big  maple  tree 
less'n  a  dozen  feet  away. 

Funny  how  quick  things  can  happen  in 
an  automobile,  ain't  it?  I  had  just  sense 
enough  left  to  jerk  back  the  emergency 
brake  and  bring  her  up  with  one  of  the  gas 
lamps  barely  grazin'  the  bark.  Then  I 
shuts  off  the  engine  and  begins  to  hear 
some  of  the  things  Sadie  is  shoutin'  at 
me. 

[41] 


HONK,    HONK! 

*  Why,    what    did    you    do    that    for, 
Shorty? "  says  she,  runnin'  up. 

"That?"   says   I,   pointin'   at  the  hood 
decoration.     "  Oh,  just  for  practice." 
"  Practice!  "  says  she. 

*  'Sure ! ' '  says  I.     '  'Thought  that  summer 
house  might  be  a  cute  place  to  keep  the 
machine  in;  but  it  don't  quite  fit,  does  it? " 

Course,  Sadie  didn't  let  me  get  away 
with  any  such  jolly  as  that,  and  the  grand 
ovation  I'd  counted  on  somehow  missed  fire. 

All  she  said  was,  when  I  explained  how 
this  was  my  own  private  machine,  that  I'd 
bought  all  by  myself  and  meant  to  run 
back  and  forth  from  town  in: 

"  You'd  better  get  some  one  to  drive  it 
for  you,  Shorty.  Then  it  will  last  longer." 

"Huh!  Think  so?"  says  I.  "Well, 
[42] 


HONK,    HONK! 

see  here,  Sadie!  I  want  you  to  understand 
that  I'm  going  to  handle  that  machine  my 
self!  Maybe  there's  a  few  stunts  I  ain't 
up  on  yet;  but  I'll  get  'em,  if  I  have  to 
burn  up  all  the  gasolene  you  could  load  on 
a  lighter!  Why,  before  I  get  through,  I'm 
going  to  have  that  car  so  it'll  stand  on  its 
hind  legs  and  eat  sugar  out  of  my  hand! " 

No,  I  ain't  quite  reached  that  point  yet. 
Nor  I  ain't  been  pinched  for  bustin'  the 
speed  limit,  and  I  haven't  begun  cuttin' 
notches  on  the  cover  of  my  coil  box;  but 
I've  scorched  my  fingers  on  a  hot  sparkin' 
plug,  and  I've  got  pump  blisters  on  my 
palms,  so  I  guess  I'm  comin'  on.  Any 
way,  I  can  look  at  Tidwell  now  without 
grittin'  my  teeth. 

[43] 


16394 


i.!£.§P.y'»f 


